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When he graduated three years ago, all Sirius had in his head was the ambition to become an auror, to fight the Death Eaters and their wretched Dark Lord. All he had in his head was a friendship which will last a lifetime. A friendship in which he watched his friends James and Lily get married, have their little Harry, and him being Uncle Padfoot running around chasing the boy as his animagus form of a dog. He had expected a war. Though, he was positive that he was going to win it along with his friends. Fighting side by side to defeat the forces of evil. Triumphing as they always do as The Marauders. The stag, the wolf, the dog… and, well, the rat. As bitter as it may sound, he had faith in that rat. Though perhaps, he learned his lesson. A rat is a rat. No matter if you have been friends since you were eleven years old. A rat will always be a rat. He wished he could have realised that sooner.
James Potter, his wife Lily, and their son Harry have been in hiding due to the fact that a prophecy mentioned the fate of their son and his possibility in ending the Dark Lord’s reign. Their house was sealed with the Fidelius charm, they chose him as their secret keeper. But when things get rough and he was none the wiser, his stupid brain told him that perhaps he was an easy guess and they should switch secret keepers. So, the brilliant mind of Sirius Black thought of Peter Pettigrew. That’s where it all went to disaster.
The moment he arrived in Godric’s Hollow, it was too late. The smoke was the first thing that he saw, the smell of burning wood was next, and when he was inside: the stone cold body of James Potter. Wide eyed, stiff, and lifeless on the floor. The next few events that occurred were a blur. Between Harry being taken away by Hagrid, his anger, Peter killing thirteen muggles before cutting his finger and transforming into a rat to run away, and him laughing maniacally on the street… nothing could prepare him for what happened next. Him being accused of killing his own best friend and now rotting in a prison cell in Azkaban.
The days are long, dark, and cold. The dementors which circled around the blocks drove people to insanity. He was traumatized enough by what happened but nothing could prepare him for the sense of dread in which he lived through everyday. Trying to survive in a prison is one thing, but trying to survive in a prison where there is a creature who feeds on your soul is another. Staying in a dark, humid cubicle. Not seeing sunlight. He cannot count how many times he wished for death instead. The only thing that kept him going was the sole fact that he knew he was innocent.
This determination kept his spirits up even in the loneliest night. The nights in which he so clearly felt the cold stone walls of Azkaban. His little cell which barely let him stretch sometimes, the dark gloomy nights when all he could see was the sky and how he wished he could be free again. Imprisonment, he thought, is not just about locking you up physically so you wouldn’t run away. Imprisonment, at its core, aims to restrict your mind and consume your soul. The most damaging thing about imprisonment isn’t the place or the physicality of it. Instead, it is isolation. Isolation of your mind, of your conscience, of your self worth. Physically, you can still survive. But when you isolate someone’s free will to live, to think, to regard himself worthy… that is the ultimate punishment. You lose your sense of self and it's the end game from that.
As Sirius sat on his bed, which was nothing but a thin strip of mattress laid on concrete, he brought his knees to his chest and rocked himself back and forth. Time stands still in a place like this. Sirius tried to do the counting of the days everyday, adding new lines to the wall. After only a few months though, he stopped. There was no point. The dementors who passed by you and terrorized your existence will remind you just how clueless you are about the time. Eventually, it gets unbearable and ignoring it becomes the best option.
He was 21 when he was arrested and time flew by so fast that he didn’t really know how old he is now, perhaps 31 already, he can’t quite place what day of the month it is. The isolation prevented him from actually moving forward with his life. Nothing about himself has been advancing that much, nothing about his situation let him grow to be the 31 year old he supposedly was. The world moved forward as he was locked up, leaving him behind. Everyone carried on with their lives, not him. He was stuck in a place where he was not allowed the ability to go on. If he ever made it out, he will be a foreigner to the world he once held his dream in. Those dreams died, unsure of a revival. It’s probably nothing now.
Sirius Black is isolated. Physically. He is determined that his mind, his conscience, his self worth. All of it is still raging to be free. They are only locked up, not lost. He knows who he is. He knows what kept him from breaking and losing his sanity. He is not his cousin Bellatrix, a few cells away from him, who for years he could listen in as she slowly deteriorated. The once menacing dueller and the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant is still very loyal, but what’s left of her is derangement. Gone are the days where sanity is still intact for Bellatrix. Not that Sirius cared, she got in here because she tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom. She deserves the punishment and more. But not him, not Sirius. He knew he was not wrong, he knew he was innocent. He did not kill James.
Or perhaps he did. He was as good as. After all, he was the one who suggested the change. Effectively giving James over to Voldemort easily. Oh, perhaps he did. He killed James. James is dead. Lily is dead. Because of him. “NO! NO! It wasn’t me! I did not kill him!” Sirius yelled to the void. His hands holding his head in frustration. “Stop it! Stop! Don’t think that way. You did not kill Prongs, Padfoot. Peter did. Voldemort did.” He muttered to himself in a cold shaky breath. Before he realised it, the tears started falling and his body trembled. Giving in, he laid on the sad excuse of a mattress and curled himself up into a ball. Muttering over and over, “I’m innocent. It wasn’t me. It was Peter. It was Voldemort. I didn’t do it. I’m innocent…”
As the dark cloud loomed around his cell, a trembling Sirius tried his best to sleep. His body trembled but he stayed with the thought that one day, he will make it out alive. One day, everyone will know it was not him. But for now, he needed to stay alive, he needed to persevere. For no prison cell will ever allow him to lose himself. One day he will be free. One day.